


Strength From Numbers

by shinkonokokoro



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking it would be a disaster, an  decided to make Steve's sketchbook come to life.<br/>It's a disaster alright. Not like the big-bad wanted it to be, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength From Numbers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainshellhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/gifts).



> For the prompt:  
> Villain-of-the-week enchants Steve sketchbook so that all of his drawings come to life, hoping to cause chaos...and it does, in a way, when hundreds of Tonys (in varying states of undress) flood the mansion and then the streets of New York--all of them just as infatuated with Steve as Steve wished the real Tony was. 616.

Everyone jumped up at the intruder alert. Tony's armour melted over him, the team turning their backs to one another, looking around for said enemy. Logan's claws shnked out, Spider-Man dropping from his web hammock, Jessica raising her fists. Carol settled intoa ready pose next to Steve, who had traded his sketchbook for his shield.

“Any eyes on our intruder yet?” Steve asked, quiet as his gaze took in the entertainment room and the off-shooting halls.

“Nothing,” Tony said. “Got some weird readings; I'm going to to vote my favourite thing.”

“Magic?” Steve said with a half-quirked smile and a glance at his friend.

“Magic,” Tony confirmed grimly.

“Well magic or no, I'd really like it if this dingo would let us beat his tushie so I can find out what happens with Mako and Raleigh. I'm a little invested,” Spider-Man quipped.

“Quiet,” Steve chastened. “Iron Man?”

“Hard to get a fix,” Tony replied.

They all spun at the abrasive cackle, Logan diving right at the guy, claws first.

“Don't wreck the big screen!” Spider-Man shouted

The guy vanished safely out of harm's way, still cackling. “I am Nightmare!” he crowed.

Steve followed 'Nightmare's' teleporting, visually, hesitant to throw the shield inside. “Iron Man—”

“Trying to lock a pattern,” Tony replied, the metallicised voice sounding stressed.

“What do you want?” Carol demanded, managing to get a hand on the guy. So far he just seemed crazy, not really dangerous.

The guy vanished again, appearing next to Steve. He threw an arm out, the shield catching him in the face. 'Nightmare' went down. Steve straddled him, the shield raised, the whine of repulsors loud in his ear letting him know Tony had his back. “What do you want?” Steve asked, echoing Carol.

Nightmare giggled, almost hysterical. His hands twitched, jagged arcs of light spilling all over the room. “Live your nightmares!” he shrieked.

Steve threw the shield up to cover himself, punching Nightmare in the head. The light show stopped.

“Well,” Spider-Man said. “When he comes back around, perhaps he can enlighten you on how he got in here!”

Everyone turned and gave him a sour look.

“What?” he said innocently, spreading his hands.

“I'll call Fury,” Carol said. “Get a room set up for this guy.”

“Already don,” Tony said, the armour melting away. He looked around, surveying the damage.

“Tony?” Steve said, looking at him.

“I just redecorated...” He frowned at the scorch marks scattered around the room. “That's not my nightmare though...” Tony crossed to the sofa. “Looks like you'll need a new sketchbook though, Steve. This one's been fried.” He bent to pick it up, Steve snatching it from his hand. “Hey—”

“It's fi—ow!” Steve dropped it, shaking his hand.

“Hot?” Carol asked, frowning. “Paper?”

Kneeling, Steve reached out, feeling Tony's warmth as he got close. “I'll take care of it,” Steve said quickly. But as he touched the sketchbook again, it sparked and everything exploded into white light.

“Shit,” Tony said faintly to his right. “I hate magic.”

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Steve woke first, groaning. The sketchbook was gone. Blinking to clear his vision, he frowned at the image of Tony, clothes hanging off him appealingly. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them as he sat up. Opening his eyes, Tony was gone. And was back to his right, laying, on the floor. “Tony...” Steve reached over, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Wh'appened...” Jessica Drew muttered as she sat.

“Tony,” Steve said again, jostling him.

Tony groaned and sat. “Where is he?”

“Wha—?” Steve said, thinking of the strange vision of Tony.

“Nightmare?” Tony prompted, standing and swaying slightly.

Steve was on his feet steadying him. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Tony said, flashing Steve a brief smile.

“He's gone,” Logan said, nose in the air.

Spider-Man jumped up as Carol leaned over him. “Forty-two!” He froze. “Oh right...”

“And you wonder why Captain America thinks you're a spaz...” Tony said with a wry smile.

“Sorry,” the kid muttered. “Guess I'm not as used to waking up from being out cold as you all are...”

“Dunno why...” Logan said slyly.

“Hey—”

“Alright,” Steve interrupted. “We need to figure this out.”

“Yeah, yeah, Cap. I'm on this,” Tony said, eyes glazed over. “You guys finish the movie. I'm going to the workshop. Figure the rest of this out. Figure out how this yahoo got in here. Because that's not okay. And I don't just mean as an affront to my pride.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “You need—”

“Nope,” Tony held a hand up to cut him off. “Don't worry your pretty head. I'll take care of it.”

He sighed, watching him disappear around the corner down the hall and then sat on the sofa again.

“Movie?” Spider-Man said eagerly.

Steve waited until everyone got settled and then pressed play, his mind more focused on the event and their intruder.

Movie done, everyone filtered away. Tony was still downstairs, so Steve headed to his bedroom. The other would tell him when he discovered anything. Steve froze when he entered his room and flicked on the light. Then quickly entered and shut the door. “ _Tony_!”

“About time...” the man huffed. The sheets pooled around his hips, Steve's eyes widened in alarm as Tony shifted to get out of the bed. “I've been waiting for _ever_...”

“Oh my God,” Steve said faintly. “Please tell me you're not naked in my bed.” But Tony stood, revealing no more than scant red underwear. Steve had drawn Tony in underwear like that. In his sketchbook. “Oh my God. Did you look at m—” Steve blanched as Tony turned. Thong. Not briefs. Thong. Tony gave him a filthy look over his shoulder,hooking his thumbs in the hips and pulli— “No!” Steve lunged and grabbed his arms. “This isn't funny!” Steve said, giving Tony a shirt that was on hand, then pushing him out of his room, ignoring the man's protests. “Jesus...” he huffed, face burning and cock hard.

Somehow Tony _must_ have seen his sketchbook. Steve's face burned hotter. He'd have to talk to him. Explain he didn't mean anything. He was just fascinated by Tony's form. That was all. And then tell Tony that it wasn't funny to do things like that. To poke fun. To tease.

Steve's plans were promptly derailed when he woke. Hot breath gusted against his neck, weight across his waist. Frowning, Steve cracked his eyes and immediately blurted several words not fit for the company of women. Luckily, there were no women present. Just Tony. Staring down at him in one of Steve's dress shirts he was fairly certain had been ripped beyond repair last week.

And...Tony laying across his hips. Wearing his gold undersuit. _Just_. The gold undersuit.

And Tony again. Head tucked against Steve's shoulder, wearing that navy suit Steve had been upset that Tony had ruined a month ago. It had looked so good on him.

“Oh God...” he breathed.

“Morning, Steve!” Tony chirped. “Sleep well?”

“Am I still dreaming?” Steve didn't dare move.

The Tony draped across his waist shifted and nuzzled at Steve's morning erection.

“Oh Jesus Christ!” Steve shouted, throwing him off and nearly flipping out of his bed. “What the hell is going on!” Yes. There were actually three Tony's in his bed. Three...attractive...pouting...edible-looking Tony's. In his bed. Willingly. “I need to go.” And bolted.

Steve ran into Logan in the hall. “Have you seen Tony?' he asked cautiously.

“Didn't come up last night,” Logan grunted and continued walking.

Frowning, Steve headed down to Tony's workshop.Only to find it empty. Steve frowned. Maybe at work them. He pulled out his phone and debated a moment to text the man. Then decided against it. He could handle this. Some...some experiment gone wrong? Something... He groaned and headed back upstairs. Hovered outside of his room a moment, hand over the doorknob.

“Steve?”

He whirled, sucking in a breath. “Oh. Jessica...”

“Are you okay?” she tilted her head in question.

“Fine, fine. Can I help you with something?”

“No...” she said slowly. “No, you just seemed... I don't know. Are you sure everything's okay?”

Smiling at her reassuringly, he nodded. “I'm sure. Just debating on whether or not I want to go on a run.”

“It's cold out there, I can see the debate...” Jess laughed. “Alright, Cap. You enjoy your run. I'm going to go meet Bobbi for lunch.”

“Uh, yeah... Have fun,” Steve said. And waved at her as she left. Maybe a run would be good. Clear his head. Figure out how to deal with this problem. So he slowly opened his door, peering inside. The Tony's were still there. Steve shut the door. Then opened it again and walked in. The Tony's all got to their feet like eager dogs, chorusing his name. Steve dropped his chin and walked to his closet, ignoring them all. There were five now. One in a pair of leather pants. The other wearing a cheerleader like version of the Iron Man suit. Not that he was paying attention. Steve had drawn something like that too. He pulled out a pair of running sweats and a long-sleeve t-shirt to go running in. Looked over his shoulder at the Tony's furtively as they clamoured for his attention.

“Steve!”

“Cap, is something wrong?”

“Steve, why won't you look at me?”

“What's the matter, Steve?”

He turned and headed towards the bathroom to go change.

“Cap?”

“Steve, can I help you with something?”

“Steve?”

“Cap, you mad at me?”

That last one made him freeze. Steve turned his head and muttered, “No,” before locking himself in the bathroom to change. Then went out for a long run, leaving all the Tony's behind.

They seemed to be congregating in his room. And they were needy. Seeming to perk up when he was around. Steve wondered what they did while he wasn't in the room. Did they talk to one another? That was a disastrous thought. Steve almost turned around and headed back immediately. More than one Tony Stark? In the same place? That could be explosive. But he didn't. He was going to finish his run.

More than one Tony. And they were multiplying. They all seemed familiar—despite the fact that they were, of course, Tony. His team-mate. His friend. His... Steve shook his head and pushed himself faster. If it was one of Tony's experiments going wrong, he would have thought Tony would have said something. But the only abnormality had been Nightmare. Therefore, it would make sense that this was his doing. Though he'd said something about living your nightmares. His nightmares? Too many Tony's wasn't exactly the nightmare some might perceive. He frowned and finished off his run with a three-quarter mile sprint back to the mansion.

By the time he got back up to his room, Steve was feeling good. And he had forgotten the Tony's ensconcing themselves in his room. So it was a surprise when Steve got back, hot and sweaty, that there were a whole bunch of copies in his bedroom. He took a deep breath and quickly dropped his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen and went to his closet.

“Steve! Steve, you're back!”

“Steve, want to come and play?”

“Come on, Steve!”

“Hot damn, boy scout! Look at that ass!”

“Steve, I can make you feel good.”

“You know, horizontal sounds like a good state to be!”

These were ridiculous. They were way too heavy-handed for Tony's style. The real Tony's style. Steve dressed himself quickly and then left his room and headed back down to Tony's workshop. He entered his code and went over to his friend. “Tony...?”

He started. “Steve. Heya, Cap. What time is it. Morning? Damn. Wanna get brunch?”

Steve coloured.

Tony frowned. “What. Something not come out right? No, I'm good. What?”

“Uh... I think....” Steve scratched at his neck. “I think I'm hallucinating...”

Tony blanched. “What?!”

“I keep...” Steve shook his head. “Can you...check?”

“Of course! Here. Sit. I'll give you a once-over. Were you hit by any of those beams from our unwanted guest last night?”

Steve took Tony's vacated seat. “See... That's just the thing. I wasn't. He didn't hit me with anything.” He sat very still as Tony examined him, running some quick tests. Then...half an hour later, concluded there was absolutely nothing wrong with Steve.

“Why? What are you seeing?”

Steve mumbled, looked away.

Eyes widening, Tony laughed, making assumptions. “Naughty!”

“No!” He protested. “Nothing like...whatever you're thinking!” Everything exactly like what he was thinking. A veritable stockpile of Steve's wet dreams. All the states of Tony Steve liked best. “I already got breakfast and went for a run. I checked. Uh. On you. Earlier. You weren't here. If you've been up, you should get some rest.” And flashed him a weak smile, fleeing back upstairs.

Steve pushed the door to his room open with trepidation. And was somehow both relieved and horrified by the appearance of _more_ Tony's in his room. They all perked up at Steve's entrance.

“We waited for you,” a few chorused.

He felt crazy. “This must be what going mad feels like,” Steve murmured. He giggled, noting a Tony in a French maid uniform. Another looking very svelte in a pair of skinny jeans, a thin t-shirt, a vest, and a pair of square frames. And another with nothing but a fig leaf.

“Steve?” they chorused. One—the one in one of Steve's favourite t-shirts—came over, apparently more brazen than the others. Took Steve's hand, making him jump. They were real. “Maybe you should sit. You look pale.” Then they converged on him—oh there was a Tony in 1940s dress uniform. Steve remembered, hysterically, drawing Tony in that, in—oh. _In his sketchbook_. With a wild look around, Steve's jaw dropped. These. Oh God. Steve had drawn _all_ of these outfits, and—his face burned as he was conveyed down on to the bed in his distraction—and lack-thereof. “Oh God...”

And there was one in a toga. The Tony's all leaned towards him, faces expressing concern and attentiveness like he'd never seen before. “Steve?” they chorused.

He jolted out of bed and fought his way to the door—dear God, were they multiplying. Throwing the door open, Steve ran right into another Tony. This one messy from the workshop. One of Steve's favourite looks. “For fuck's sake!” he blurted helplessly

“Woah there,” this Tony said, throwing his hands up. “What's with the language, Cap? Did I do something?” The real one then? “Sorry there, big guy. Didn't mean anything...I was just coming after you to check on you. You seemed...off. Everything o—”

“Steve? Steve. Steve?” The Tony's whined, all crowding behind Steve in his doorway.

His heart sunk, watching the expression play over Tony's face. There was the widening of Tony's eyes, slackening of his jaw, pink lips loose and plush. The moment of understanding, eyebrows flying high as his gaze shifted momentarily from the clamouring hoard to Steve's face to the hoard again. Sharpening of his gaze as that brilliant mind began to think, analyse, problem-solve. Quirk of his lips as he saw the humour in the situation (something Steve was too mortified to see just yet), and then the full grin, compression of his chest in a noiseless laugh.

But no words yet.

“Tony?” Steve said, voice cracking.

“I've got about thirty jokes I could make,” he said slowly, dragging his gaze up to Steve's flamed face, eyes darting around. “I don't know where to start.” Tony's expression gentled, apparently taking pity. “What happened, Steve?”

“I don't know. Please. Don't be mad. I don't know—”

“Hey, hey! Relax,” Tony laughed, giving him a crooked smile. “It's okay. I'm not mad. Let's just figure this out. Wha—hey!” Tony glared at the copies of himself that were jabbering. “Shut up! Okay. Steve. When did this...uh...start happening.”

“I think it's my sketchbook...”

Again, Tony's face crinkled in confusion before going open in understanding. “Nightmare?” A flash of hurt.

“No, no, no!” Steve rushed to assure him. “I mean—yes, I think it was Nightmare's doing; no, it's not my nightmare to be surrounded by...by you. Not really. I mean...” Steve paused, face flushing. Unless he were to die by embarrassment. “It is only because...” He looked over his shoulder at the murmuring crowd of Tony's. “Each copy here is a sketch...” They _were_ multiplying.

Tony blinked. “You drew me in heels?”

Head snapping back towards Tony, Steve felt his face flame up. “Oh God...” he muttered. “I'm so sorry, Tony...” They were encroaching.

“No... It's...fine...” Tony replied slowly, strangled, but thoughtful. “It's obvious we have to do something about this. Obviously. They're...sort of spilling out of your room. Shit, you really drew me this many times?”

This was only about half. He dropped his eyes. Grabbed the wrist of the one groping his ass.

“Never mind. We probably ought to do something before they get into my workshop. Are they...” Tony frowned. “Do they say much else besides the constant chorus of your name? Are they intelligent?”

“Tony, they're _you_!” Steve protested.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, clearly thinking better of his comment.

“Though they do seem...more...preoccupied?” Steve offered.

“You mean obsessed and single-focused?”

“I was going for tact...”

“Right. Well.” Tony folded his arms and stared over Steve's shoulder. “How about we get some of these...me's...to my workshop and take a look.”

Their murmuring getting noisy, Steve turned. “Hey, could you keep it down please?” It was getting hard to think. And he was presently surprised when they hushed obediently.

“Anything to make you happy,” one offered.

Tony made a choked noise. Steve thanked them, grinning. Gestured to a few to come along. Somehow they ended up crammed into the elevator with more than that. Tony glowered. Steve's sketches jostled about to be close to Steve, feeling like he was in an ocean with the constant movement of the Tony's. So they could all cop a feel apparently.

“I feel like I should apologise,” Tony murmured. “But, given the circumstances, I'm not going to.”

Steve was relieved. “You don't have anything to apologise for.” And tried to ignore the revolving door of hands on him. Blessedly, the ride was short. So Steve fell out of the elevator with a relieved sigh. Were there more sketch Tony's than when they entered the elevator? “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, hopefully, there's some transmission signal that I can track that will either short these suckers out. Or lead us back to that 'Nightmare' character so that we can kick his ass.” Tony turned to give him a reassuring smile, snapping instead, “Get your grubby hands off of him! He's not the fucking Hadron Collider!” at the Tony's who were leaning up against Steve and nuzzling and being cat-like in their affection.

He flushed. “Sorry, Shellhead.”

Tony immediately made a scoffing noise. “Absolutely not. Your problem is my problem. I want to help. They seemed to listen to you before. If you tell them off, they'll probably listen.”

Murmuring in assent, Steve dropped his eyes. They were, at the very least, doing a good job of hiding the stiffie he''d sort of been sporting all day.

“Unless....” Tony said slowly, staring at him with his usual astuteness—in all the wrong moments... “You like it?”

“No!” he blurted, pushing a bit at the sketch-Tony's.

The original shrugged. “Not like I'd blame you...I'm an attractive man,” he teased, with careful nonchalance.

“You are,” Steve acknowledged, just as carefully not looking at his friend.

Tony paused before grinning at Steve. “That's sweet, Cap. No need to feed me compliments to appease me.”

“I sort of wasn't...” Steve moved forward, the sketch-Tony's becoming a bit oppressive as they murmured for his attention.

At that, Tony turned. “Really? Steve, I didn—woah. You drew me in your uniform?” He laughed and grabbed one of the Tony's, looking at his tablet. The sketch-copy fussed and complained, telling his original off as he tried to move back closer to Steve. “Shut up,” Tony said.

“You're not the boss of me.”

“Steve, tell your creations to shut up,” Tony quipped.

“Guys... Can it for a while? Yeah?” Steve looked around at them sternly. “Tony...?”

They said, in chorus, “Yeah, Steve?” It was almost overwhelming.

“Uh... Just Tony. The original.” And looked at his friend. “I think they keep multiplying somehow. It's getting crowded.”

Tony looked up, frowning. “How many times did you draw me?”

He flushed. “Umm... Do you want the real answer to that?” And looked up at the ceiling.

Whistling lowly, Tony drew Steve's attention again.

“Let's not talk about it,” he muttered, pushing the copies away, moving closer to Tony.

“Yeah, uh...I think this is something we can't not talk about, Steve.”

“Please,” he asked, a pleading note entering his voice.

Tony stared at him a long moment and then nodded curtly before going back to his work, trying to figure out from where these sketches were being animated.

Steve perched on a stool for a while, feeling small, but relieved. He picked up one of Tony's spare tablets and browsed the net and checked his email, trying not to feel awkward about it. “Maybe...maybe not yet,” Steve muttered after a while. An hour later, he got up to go get them some food, Steve pushing through the Tony's, who all followed him to the elevator.

“Hey! Hey! At least one of you needs to stay!” Tony called, hands going up in frustration.

“Geeze,” Steve muttered lowly, looking at how many there were. He hadn't noticed as they'd all crowded around him, petting his back, arms, shoulders. “Tony, we've got to do something...”

“Don't you love me?”

“Why won't you cuddle with me?”

“Steve,I just want a kiss!”

“Can't we take a nap together? If you catch my drift?”

“I'll spangle your stars, Cap,” the Tony's said, the words an onslaught.

Steve, flustered, searched for something to say. He shared a look with Tony before blurting out, “I'll go get us sandwiches.” And bolted before any of the other Tony's (the copies or original) could follow him. Steve paused when he was in the kitchen, wondering if the sketch copies needed food too. “Shoot...” Puzzling over that, his brows furrowed down as Steve began fixing a couple sandwiches for himself and Tony. He wasn't nearly done when Tony exploded out of the elevator. “Tony?!”

“Steve!” Running across the space, Tony skidded to a halt in front of the counter where Steve was working.

“What's the matter?” He reached for his shield—which wasn't on hand.

“The clones!” Tony gasped. “They're taking over!”

“Ooh! Sandwiches? You making?” Clint asked, chipper as he walked in. “What's taking over?”

Steve flushed and flashed a look at Tony. “Um... That Nightmare character...?”

“He made a whole bunch of clones of me,” Tony said, saving Steve from the embarrassment of answering.

Clint blinked. “Aw hell... why you?”

“Hey,” Steve chided.

“Where are they?” Clint looked between them. As if on cue, the elevator dinged.

Steve paled and exchanged another look with Tony.

“Shit!” Clint said as the heavy thump of feet grew louder. As did their cries for attention from Steve.

“To the Quinjet?!” Steve suggested.

“Tasha's got it,” Clint said, eyes wide.

“Clint, you're blond,” Tony said, springing towards an emergency exit. “You play decoy!”

“Would that _ever_ fool you?” Clint countered, cursing as he looked over his shoulder at the stampeding Tony's.

“Good point,” Tony gasped, pushing Steve out the door ahead of him. “Where to?!”

“SHIELD!”

“Too obvious!”

“I have an apartment!” Steve offered, slamming through the emergency exit.

“You _what_?” Tony looked at him, offended.

“From SHIELD,” he explained. “I don't actually live there!” Steve skidded around a corner, waving them on. “You know I live with you, Tony!”

The other man grumbled as Clint called, “Should I be shooting anyone?”

“No!” Steve snapped in unison with Tony. “I know they're not really Tony, but I object to that on principle!”

“Hey thanks,” Tony said with a manic grin. “Can we hop a cab or something? All this running? Not so good...”

“Weak, Stark,” Clint ribbed.

“Hush,” Steve said. “I hope the rest of the team is free and clear...”

Tony hailed a cab and the three of them slid in, squished into the back seat. Steve rattled off his address, Tony crammed against one side, Clint on his other. He kept quiet amidst the soft panting of his team-mates. And hoped that neither of—

“So...somebody want to explain what the _fuck_ is going on?” Clint asked.

“Nightmaremademysketchbooksketchescometolife,” Steve rushed out, staring resolutely out the window.

“I'm sorry. What was that?” Clint said again slowly, looking quickly at Tony before back at Steve. “Oh are you fucking kidding me. Of course. Of course Steve draws Tony in his sketchbook. Of course he does.” He threw his hands up and then sagged back into the seat. “And of course, their creator is their obsession?” Clint asked, like he were hopeful that it weren't true.

“Yes,” Steve muttered.

Everyone was silent until they reached Steve's apartment. Tony tapping on his phone on Steve's one side, Clint sulking on Steve's other. Steve, meanwhile, was praying that the Tony's weren't able to follow him. Them. It was almost like a scene out of one of those slapstick comedy films that should have the repetitive bouncy music accompanying it.

Tony paid the cabbie and then Steve led them up to his unit.

“You've _lived_ here?” Clint said, face crinkling as he sniffed delicately.

“Hey. I seem to remember one of your little hidey-holes. You have absolutely no leg to stand on,” Steve said with a glare. Then stretched up towards the light on the wall, making a small noise of exclamation as he found the spare key.

“Oh my God...” Tony said softly, looking up from his phone. “This is so analogue it hurts...”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered fondly. He let them all in then shut the door. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“I wish,” Tony muttered, low enough that he probably didn't mean to be heard. And invited himself to Steve's sofa.

“Hey there's an idea. Do you have beer?” Clint asked. “I'll take a beer. I feel like I need one to deal with this shit.”

Shooting him a warning look—Tony had enough temptations, and he'd been doing so well lately—Steve went to the kitchen and checked his fridge. “I've got Coke and lemonade.”

Clint gave a disappointed groan as Tony asked, “You still have those glass bottles?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll take one.”

“Me too, I guess,” Clint said, throwing himself onto Steve's big arm chair in the corner. “So,” the man continued as Steve handed out the bottles of Coke, “what's the plan of action here, man with a plan?”

Sighing, Steve sank down onto the sofa next to Tony's feet. “I have no idea. Tony, how far had you come with tracking Nightmare?”

“Most of my progress is back at the mansion,” Tony said with a tired shrug.

“So we're back at square one,” Clint said.

“Not strictly,” Tony explained, kicking his feet into Steve's lap.

Sighing, Steve nudged at Tony's feet, not enough to push them off.

“So...we're stuck?” Clint said, head dropping back, bottle hanging loosely from his fingers. “Just think of the damage that these things are going to do...”

“They're not things,” Steve reprimanded. “They're Tony's.”

“My point exactly,” Clint huffed.

“Stop it,” Steve told him. “We need a plan.” But he was drawing a blank, unfortunately. They all jumped when there was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” Clint said feelingly, jumping to his feet.

Steve swallowed and got up, moving over to the door slowly. He cracked it open, crying out as he was suddenly overrun by Tony's. Bearing him down to the floor, the Tony's pulled at his clothes, sliding their hands over him.

“Steve, why did you leave me?—Why did you run—don't leave me again!—Steve, don't you love me?—Steve, I love you!—how could you—I'll be good—you can't just leave—what did I do—I found you—where did you go—why did you run—why did you leave me?”

Tony and Clint were standing in the small entry area, jaws dropped, staring at Steve.

“Oh my God...” Clint got his phone out.

“Don't _film_ me!” Steve snapped. “ _Help_ me!”

“But they _wuv_ you so much,” Clint snickered.

Steve struggled, not really wanting to hurt any of them. There were more still. “Help, me, please! Tony!” His face burned with the embarrassment that Tony was seeing this, but still. He needed to get up and—

“Why are they like that?” Tony asked, head tilted curiously.

“Why are you not more concerned about this?!” Steve said, voice going shrill as he clawed at the floor to try and tried to pull himself away. Clint, meanwhile, just laughed, phone hopefully shaking beyond any worthwhile footage, clinging to the wall to stay on his feet. Tony was staring, rapt, jaw slack, fingers twitching on his left hand. They all startled again as the apartment began filling with Tony's, and there was a loud boom. Clint dropped his phone, flailing around for something to use as a weapon. Tony's armour melted over him, wading through the Tony's to grab Steve's hand.

Nightmare appeared in the middle of the living room, cackling. “How do you like my pu—” He fell back as Clint's phone beaned him in the head.

Steve found himself surrounded by Tony's. The original in the suit, the others forming a sort of wall around him, arms up, settled into the fighting ready stance that Steve had taught him. Distantly, he was touched that even his drawing knew and remembered the things that Steve had taught Tony. But Tony was thumping across the floor, kneeling over Nightmare, one repulsor whining as it powered up, his other hand clamped around Nightmare's biceps.

“You got him?” one of the Tony's asked, venturing forward. The rest of them loomed forward over Nightmare threateningly. Steve watched, amazed. “Hold him down!” The copies swarmed over Nightmare, getting hands on him and pinning him to the ground so the original Tony could stand back, repulsor charged. When the man's eyes fluttered open, he screeched and squirmed, pinned. One of the copies leaned into his face before Tony could say anything and threatened, “You ever go after Steve again, and we're going to cut you apart.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Clint jerk in surprise, Tony twitching only slightly in the suit.

“Do you understand?” one of the others said, voice low and deathly serious. “You go after him again, and you're over. People won't find pieces big enough of you to determine who you were.”

Steve shuddered alongside Nightmare, biting his lip as he shot a nervous glance at Tony. And since the man's face was behind the helmet, he couldn't tell _what_ he was thinking.

“I _made_ you!” Nightmare shrieked. Something exploded and Nightmare waved a hand at the copies, the whole lot of them disappearing. But he had hardly rolled himself over before Tony shot him with a repulsor.

“Tony!”

“Relax,” he said coolly, faceplate coming up. “It was only 42%. Just enough to stun. And maybe short out his nervous system.” And then turned to look at Steve. “Home?”

“Uh... yeah,” Steve muttered, feeling foolish.

“SHIELD's on their way,” Clint said, pulling his phone away from his ear.

Steve just nodded sort of numbly as Tony stood sentry over the unconscious Nightmare.

 

~ *~ * ~ * ~

 

It was five days of realising that he sort of missed the invasive, affectionate copies, or not drawing a single sketch of Tony, or avoiding the other man and pretending everything was back to normal, of having increasingly inappropriate dreams, that Steve ended up in the kitchen at two A.M., unable to sleep. This time not due to an inappropriate dream.

“Hey, Cap. What are you doing up?” Tony asked, hesitating at the door a moment before continuing on to the refrigerator.

Steve mumbled something into his mug of tea.

“What's that?”

He didn't even really know the first time, so he sighed and pushed away from the counter he was leaning on. “Nothing... I don't know. Listen... I'm sorry about the uh...incident. And all the fall-out it caused with the media...”

“Nothing worse has been written. Interesting imagination you got there, Cap.”

Steve winced. “Shit, Tony, I'm really sorry. I'm sorry, okay. Just forget about it all. Don't worry about it. Don't be mad at me. I just...You're easy to draw—”

“Don't pull that bullshit, Cap,” Tony interrupted coolly. “Don't bother with excuses if you're just going to make something up. You're better than that.”

He blinked at him, Tony cutting through the crap for a change. Sucking in a breath, Steve looked down into his mug. “You're right. I'm sorry. It's been a while... Maybe since you first found me. It's not like...” He tossed his head, cheeks heating. “It's not like I imprinted on you or anything like that, but you've always been a good friend to me. And you helped me adjust. Gave me somewhere to belong. You're always there for me, Tony. Even when you're busy. So how could I not fall for you. You're amazing...” Steve trailed off, eyes flicking up at the man. He did a double-take when he saw the soft smile on Tony's lips, crinkling around his eyes. “Tony?”

“There it is.”

“What?” He straightened as Tony came closer. Steve recognised that look. Though he usually saw it at parties and in photos in gossip rags. And it was never directed at him. “Tony?”

“I was beginning to think that you were just ignoring it all. Jesus, Steve... I tried so hard to hint. And you flirted back! At least I thought you were. But then you'd treat me just the same as everyone else the next day, and I—”

“I never treated you the same,” Steve interrupted at a mutter, captivated by the blue of Tony's eyes, the curve of his cheekbones.

“Hush, Cap. I thought, 'maybe he's just not getting the clue.' 'Maybe he's just not into you, Tony.' So I let it go. For a little while. And then this...? Signs were pretty obvious...” Tony was now close enough for Steve to feel his warmth. Close enough that Steve could read the signs that Tony was going to kiss him.

He sucked in a breath and ducked away, his back now to the open door of the kitchen, Tony's facing the counter as he turned. Expression broken, hurt, cut. “I thought... Steve... You just _said_...”

“You're not messing with me this time?” Steve said quickly, mug clutched tight to his chest.

Some of the hurt eased in Tony's face, brows lifting in hope. “No,” he said quickly. “Geeze, Steve. No! No, I'm not messing with you! I would _never_ do that!”

Holding his breath for half a second, Steve nodded then and reached over, setting his mug on the counter. He swallowed and moved back into Tony's space, his hand settling hesitantly on Tony's hip. “Kiss me then.”

Tony beamed at him and hooked a hand around the back of Steve's neck and pulled him down a bit, kissing him sweetly a long moment until he turned it dirty and deep, stealing Steve's air and drawing a needy noise from the back of his throat. Then pulled back. “Good?”

“Oh... Oh more than...” Steve breathed, feeling slightly dazed, but like he was floating. If this was a Nightmare, he didn't want to wake up.


End file.
